Movin' On: From the Mean Streets of Los Angeles to the Sandy Beaches of Micronesia

By Joe Race

Sheriff's Sergeant Tom Parker has to get out of Los Angeles before he gets hurt on the job, or goes over the edge emotionally. He is approaching middle age, wondering if there isn't more to life than nightshifts, and is tired of ducking bullets and breaking up fights in gang territory. He wins millions of dollars gambling in Las Vegas and makes his way to the sun, surf and sand of Saipan in Micronesia.

Tom buys an old dilapidated hotel, starts a Private Investigations agency, and is soon involved with a myriad of characters, some hilarious and others deadly, from Asia and the mainland. With his divorce final, he enjoys a series of ladies, but unexpectedly falls in love with his hotel manager, Cocina, a Filipina with three children. He and his Private Eye partner, Carlos, come in conflict with local officials and hoodlums, and soon the shooting starts. Tom vowed that he would never re-marry, or get back into police work, but he breaks both these resolutions after several months on the island.

Even with the dark days of grief and hardship after several shootings, Tom never despairs. He is where he wants to be, enjoys the sunsets, windsurfing, making new friends, playing ukulele music, and drinking lo-calorie pina coladas... and finding new love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Nov 27, 2007
• ISBN: 9781426943850

Joe Race

Joe Race is a retired police officer/deputy sheriff with 45 years of law enforcement service. He now writes fulltime and teaches law enforcement classes at the nearby Saipan community college. His heroes have always been cowboys: some real like Bat Masterson, Buffalo Bill Cody, Wild Bill Hickok, and Wyatt Earp; some Hollywood versions of brave, stalwart men like Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, Hopalong Cassidy, Lash LaRue, John Wayne, and Eddy Dean. He loved Dale Evans and the other cowgirls, and all the four-legged friends like Bullet, Champion and Trigger. After twelve years in Micronesia, Joe is "almost" an islander and an official beachologist. During his trip to the big island of Hawaii, Joe was fascinated by the early days of the Parker Ranch and learning about the island cowboys, the paniolos. They were real and still are. This book is about them. Aloha and mahalo! This is his fourth novel.

Book preview

MOVIN’ ON

JOE RACE

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s

imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events or persons, living or dead, is entirely

coincidental.

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© Copyright 2007 Joe Race

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or

otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

Note for Librarians: A cataloguing record for this book is available from Library

and Archives Canada at www.collectionscanada.ca/amicus/index-e.html

ISBN: 978-1-4251-2579-0

ISBN: 978-1-4269-4385-0 (ebk)

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Photography by Gresil Miradora & Clarence White.

CONTENTS

1

ON THE JOB IN LA

2

LOUISE AND LAS VEGAS

3

THE FORTUNE ARRIVES

4

STOPOVER IN HAWAII

5

FINDING THE ISLAND PARADISE

6

SAIPAN ADJUSTMENT

7

THE COMPUTER STORE

8

MAKING THE CHOICE

9

ISLAND NEGOTIATIONS

10

EX-OOP OWNS HOTEL

11

GETTING IT TOGETHER

12

MAMA SAN’S PROPOSAL

13

THE NAKED JAPANESE MAN

14

MISSING HOTEL STAFF

15

DRACULA ON NIGHT SHIFT

16

CARLOS JOINS UP

17

ISLAND PIECE CORPS LADY

18

CATTLE RUSTLING IN THE TROPICS

19

THE BEACHOLOGIST

20

THE MISSING ROOSTERS

21

A SHIRT OF MANY COLORS

22

DEAD BODIES IN MARPI

23

OUR NEW KOREAN COOK

24

DOGSHIT IN THE YARD

25

JUSTICE AT SEA

26

FANCY SANDOVAL IS BACK

27

PI WORK IN PALAU

28

SWEET COCINA

29

DAD IS PISSED OFF ALSO

30

SEX AT SIX

31

THE CIA RECLUSE

32

THE MYSTERIOUS GAMBLER

33

THE ARRIVAL OF JILL

34

CARLOS IN THE HOSPITAL

35

GETTING IT TOGETHER WITH COCINA

36

BIG NOISE, SMALL EXPLOSION

37

THE ARRESTS START

38

COCINA MOVES IN

39

LEGAL STUFF

40

ROUTINE AT THE HOTEL

41

TOUGH AS COCKROACHES

42

OUR TRUSTY VAN

43

ENOUGH! ENOUGH!

44

LOUISE AT THE HOTEL

45

PI BUSINESS

46

WEDDING PROPOSAL

47

ANTHONY IS SHOT

48

MISCELLANEOUS HAPS

49

FISHING ON BEACH ROAD

50

THE BIG BREAK

51

UP THE MOUNTAIN

52

COPS AND MARINES ON THE HUNT

53

THE CAVE

54

BACK AT THE HOTEL

55

BEACH BOYS GO BERSERK

56

NO TRIAL FOR ARUDA

57

A NIGHT TO REMEMBER

58

THE WEDDINGS

59

EPILOGUE

60

GLOSSARY

DEDICATION

To my parents, Joseph III and Edna for being wonderful, substantial citizens, and for encouraging me to read everything that I could get my hands on.

Theodore Roosevelt: The best executive is one who has sense enough to pick good people to do what he wants done, and self-restraint enough to keep from meddling.

Raphael, an old man at an island fiesta: Never measure your wealth by a bank account. maybe by the way you fish or farm, or by your acts of kindness, but never by money.

The Bible on police, Matthew 5:9 : Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt: The only sure bulwark of continuing liberty is a government strong enough to protect the interests of the people, and a people strong enough and well enough informed to maintain…control over its government.

Henry, fourteen-year-old boy at a beach campfire, waxing wisdom: You know, women are not just for cookin’. They’re also good for lookin’.

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

This is work of fiction, but Saipan does exist as the main island and capital of the Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands, USA (15 degrees 10’51N, 145 degrees 45’ 21 E). It is in the north western portion of Micronesia, meaning many small islands. I have to thank everyone who was inspirational and instrumental in helping me finish this book. This novel is only a small part of what happens out in paradise in the middle of the Pacific. There are tons of more stories to bring to the printed word.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention particular people who were my friends and editors during the writing process. These are my loyal supporters who stood steadfast, brought me coffee and Thai soup, and were always there when I needed a kick in the butt to get me back to the keyboard. They were great with the green editor’s pen: wonderful people like Juanita Mendoza, Urbano Duenas, Danny Gunfighter Hocking, Bud and Donna White, John Bowe, Barry Hirshbein, Marie Miradora, Bruce Macmillan, Jeff Williams, Cassie Hamman, Jill Derickson, Nancy Nielsen, and Jane Mack, and others, several of whom did not want their names mentioned. For obvious reasons, they did not want it known that they were breaking bread and talking story with a retired cop. It is always interesting to me that when you visit different cultures and countries that one of the first things you have to do, is convince everyone that you have no ulterior motives, and that you’re not CIA. But just so you know, I do know a lot of CIA operatives.

Bon voyage. Enjoy your Pacific adventure.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Joe Race has been a policeman/deputy sheriff for 45 years. He has worked just about every position in law enforcement including patrol officer, jailer, firearms instructor, game warden, harbor master, detective, crocodile hunter, security director, police academy teacher, and chief of police. He has lived and worked in California, Arizona, Oregon, and Washington, plus Micronesia of the Pacific Basin for ten years, and has completed two overseas missions in Kosovo and Bosnia. He attributes his accomplishments in law enforcement on a basic principle: Take care of your troops, and they’ll take care of you. Success is synergetic and can be contagious.

Along the way, he earned his graduate college degrees in government and public administration. He currently spends his time as an adjunct college professor and writer, and runs a family taxi service for his three teenagers. This is his first novel.

1

ON THE JOB IN LA

I was daydreaming, or in this case, night dreaming while patrolling through the Watts housing projects at one in the morning. These are the mean and scary roads of Los Angeles. My divorce was a done deal, somewhat harmonious, and I had 20 years of police service under my belt. I was trying to figure out my next move. Deputy Freddy Schwartz was driving, and chattering away about his new girlfriend.

I’m telling you, Tom. This is the one I’ve been looking for. She’s hot. She can cook and clean too. Freddy had been looking for, and sometimes finding, the right girl for about the past five years. He added, I get goose bumps just thinking about her.

I nodded and mumbled something like Yeah. I was lazily looking at the beat-up houses, the graffiti on the walls, and several drunks sleeping in an alleyway. Not exactly a worthy reflection of the wealthiest nation on earth.

I was also reflecting back on the previous several weeks. I was losing my patience with the endless crime and trauma, and had almost beaten a suspect senseless when he tried to pull my Ruger semi-automatic out from my gun belt. I knew he was going to kill me. I was part of the police thin line that was trying to preserve his neighborhood. Why the fuck was he trying to kill me? Fortunately, the deputies had pulled me off the guy, and they covered for me. The report read that the suspect had resisted arrest, and had fought all the way into the booking cell at the station. The suspect recovered, but I didn’t, still carrying the emotional baggage. I got the shakes every time I thought about how close I came to killing a guy, or being killed, and on several nights, woke up covered with sweat.

The car radio blared, Unit 11-S. Shots fired. Two bodies down in street. Century and Adams. May be gang-related. Code 3. 11-A and 11-B assist.

All the units acknowledged. I coordinated the response, and we arrived within three minutes. Dark figures were running into the night in all directions. Freddy and I managed to grab two runners, and threw on the cuffs. Both were about 17 and covered with gang tattoos. They put up little resistance, almost as routine for them as it was for us.

Freddy said, speaking to no one in particular, More gang-banging. When the hell is this going to stop? These useless deaths were frustrating for all of us, over 600 dead bodies every year in Los Angeles, directly related to violent gang activity. Sometimes we felt that we were just shoveling the proverbial sand into the tide with all our educational and investigation efforts. The jails and prisons were already full to capacity. Maybe Governor Arnold and his bunch of geniuses in Sacramento could figure out some answers. Meanwhile, we just keep bagging and tagging more bodies.

The ambulances arrived, and so did the homicide detectives. Both bodies in the street were dead from multiple gunshot wounds. Each was carrying semi-autos, but never had a chance to use them. There was dope scattered all around the bodies.

The other crews had managed to arrest three more runners. In all, four handguns and eight knives had been recovered. Two of the guns had been recently fired, so ballistic tests would be done to see if we had the shooters. None of the guns were Saturday Night Specials, but were expensive, prestige brands.

We canvassed the neighborhood for witnesses. Of course, no one had seen anything, but a few reluctantly conceded that they might have heard what sounded like gunshots or a car back-firing. The good citizens were afraid of reprisals from the ominous gang members. It pissed me off that they wouldn’t stand up to these hoodlums, but then again, I didn’t live in the neighborhood, and I didn’t have to worry about my house being fire-bombed, or my daughter being raped on the way home from school.

Typically several days later, there would be the drive-by in the neighborhood. A carload of thugs seeking revenge for the two dead guys in the street. Grandma or a small child would be in the house, and would pay the price for being related to the killers. It was a sad story, but was part of this gangland culture.

I was feeling tired about the job, and knew that it was time to be moving on. I was just plain worn-out. Too many tragic stories. After twenty years in the ghetto, my own odds of survival were diminishing, both physically and emotionally.

After the suspects’ interviews, the homicide guys sorted out that it was another dispute over turf. The social scientists call it territorial imperative. I thought of it as stupidity, and the waste of these young lives, both the shooters and the shootees. The two dead guys had been selling dope in the wrong neighborhood, and had caught the wrath of the street culture. The two suspects with the guns had done the killing, and the others were willing to testify to save their worthless hides. Ballistic and fingerprints later backed this up. Once again, a case of senseless killings and blowing the myth off the wrong belief that there is some sort of honor among thieves and vicious criminals. Such stories rate small blurbs in the newspaper, and sometimes if news is scarce, the killings might even rate a twenty second report on the late television news.

Freddy and I finished our reports, with only two hours overtime. He said, Sarge, I need to be excused. I’m out of here! He ran out of the office like a young boy heading for his first date. His new woman was named Gloria. We would never have guessed. You could hear him singing in the back parking lot, I am going to see my Gorgeous Gloria! Gloria, Gloria…

2

LOUISE AND LAS VEGAS

I was on my three days off. I had nothing planned, except maybe to read books, do some chores, and watch the box. The phone rang. The Caller ID number made me smile. It was beautiful, fun, wonderful Louise. And hot and sexy.

I said, Hello and I say yes to whatever you want.

Laughing out loud, Louise said, Oh yeah, that’s my Tom Parker. Come cut my lawn and wash my car.

Except for that or any form of activity that means work. I have other exercise in mind.

She continued laughing. I am all yours for whatever you have in your filthy little mind, but it has to be in Las Vegas. I am ready to rock and roll, and do some gambling. Wanna go?

"You got me at the right time, mi corazon. I need a break and a fresh look at another reality. When do you wanna take off?"

Another chuckle. How about I pick you up in an hour? My new car is washed up and full of gas, and ready to knock down 300 miles in less than four hours.

I’m too spoiled, I said. Plus, I have news in the romance department. If you’ve been a good girl, or at least a safe girl, don’t worry about condoms. I got clipped last month, and all I can shoot are blanks.

Yeah baby. See you in less than an hour. And she did.

Every time I see Louise, I am so overwhelmed by her beauty and her fitness. She is luminous. She shines with life and vitality. She is tall, a brunette, and has a dynamic personality and a quick wit. I had not seen her or talked to her in over three months. We will probably never be a couple, as she enjoys her freedom too much, and has a sex drive to match or exceed most men. We are great friends and have enjoyed trips all over Mexico, the Americas, and the Caribbean together. I met her on an archeological dig in Guatemala over five years ago, and a friendship developed that included jungle jaunts in Latin America, and a taste for the exotic and erotic. She didn’t break up my marriage, but she did give me another perspective on life. I learned that there is joy and excitement all around us, and I didn’t need to stay in a loveless relationship.

We have talked about our affair. We both understood the boundaries. I knew that I was in love with her, but was careful not to be possessive or chase her away. When she was with me, she was with me totally; but she would get a few phone calls, and could make different plans after just one week at home. She was always restless to travel. She survived financially through a small family inheritance, and by occasional gifts from some of her older gentlemen friends. I had never seen her cry or be depressed. There was never any sign of drugs.

Hi Beauty. Are you ready to do your rocking and rolling? I gave her a kiss full on the lips. I threw my overnight bag in the backseat. Her bright red Mustang convertible was magnificent.

She said, I’m ready, you handsome dog. You look more like a movie star every time I see you. We headed for the freeway and talked and talked. I told her about moving on from the job, and checking out some options. She had just returned from a month-long journey through Europe with one of her old duffer friends with tons of money. She wanted to get back to normal and get a sense of how regular folks lived. She thought of me right away.

I asked, Now is that a compliment, or a dig?

You know that I love you, and you are one of the foundations of my life. When I get off course, I need to see you, and feel you, and talk to you. My traveling friend, Cedric, was a nice man, and gentleand generous. But you know, he’s so damn wealthy, and totally in his own world, that he has no idea of how the world works. He never worries about a car payment or complains about his taxes or how he can find money for his next dental appointment.

And I thought you came to see me because of my worldwide reputation as the modern Casanova. And my measurements.

Alas my love, those are very important considerations. Let’s get to Vegas and check out those reasons.

She hit the accelerator extra hard. She showed no concern for the Highway Patrol or the occasional enforcement helicopter. We broke her previous record by some 17 minutes. She pulled into Caesar’s Palace, and left the car with the valet. She had verified our reservations with her cell phone, and did the instant check-in.

We were in bed and enjoying each other, probably before her car got to the top floor of the parking garage. She was everything that I remembered and fantasized about. There is something unique about naked bodies blending and the reassurance of life when the offering of warm skin is made. She was just beautiful all over, both in body and soul, and an expert in all love-making. There was